Indelible the stars tonight.
Radiant, they shine
burn holes in my mind
like alcoholic buzz.
I once had a special one named X
and living below his astral radial glow,
his blue ice crystal fingers would
shimmer and spike electromagnetic diamonds
through a billion astronomical units.
The interstellar wind
just brushing the treetop shadows
of Irish Mountain.
The memory of X is following me tonight
I can still feel his faint shivering shine
tripping a gamma ray
his frail vaporous breath still
rustles the leaves on 7th Avenue
tingling cold medicinal quivers
up my spine – all quasar like
You see, it was his frigid points of clarity
that resonated internal light into my night
and passing by, I followed inspirit
down desolate streets and desperate alleys
past cheap motels and dismal diners
miserable mini markets and dying malls
crumbling churches and graffiti fried factories
Then X went off the edge
he’d disappear for nights on end
he started playing around with particle physics.
and fumbling for fun in the fractional dimension
the blistering sugar of his titanium white twinkle
burned up the solar cells sorrowfully
going from a Red Giant to a White Dwarf
and in the end I finally lost him
to a heroin supernova
as he was gone to a black hole
Late night at the diner of discontent
now serving six packs of imperfection…
The booths and tables are empty
except for some stragglers
a tired waitress and kitchen staff on break,
the ceiling fans spinning silence.
Half drunk lonely guy sitting at the counter
with a mug of coffee, gone cold.
He is staring off distant
The young waitress warms his eye
with a tear
as the smell of pot luck, out of luck
and yesterdays burnt meat loaf
lingers in the air and out the door,
hovers over the empty parking lot
on a mist soaked night.
A foggy parable of light
dimly articulates a deserted street.
Across the street
a young girl sits in a broken plastic chair
outside room 9 of Klein’s motel
where they rent poverty by the week.
She’s hoping the cops don’t come this time
as a late night traveler passes,
tail lights fading to eternity.
Drunk guy’s got the sniffles and the shakes,
never got used to the headaches
nor the romance gone.
A bit of drool drips
from the corner of his mouth
as he nods off to dream
of a dark street strewn with French fries,
soda cup and a tattered McDonald’s bag;
where head lights dance off damp piles of leaves
near a dark creek rippling over unseen rocks
by a wooden fence where I lean to write
as cars slow to ponder
the sight of this strange night writer.
The waitress warms his coffee
as the pie has turned to crumb.
Carl Kaucher has been previously published in “Big Hammer”- “Street Value” – “Mad Poets Review” – “Wavelength 14” – “Blue Collar Review” – ” Old Red Kimono” – “Tight” and others. He has performed his poetry widely throughout the SE Pennsylvania region. He pursues his passion for photography and writing as an Urban Wanderer. email@example.com and view his photographs at: